Fear and Other Things
by MangKulas
Summary: Unlike Hiruma, Mamori is not frightening. But she is unyielding. With this, she can stand up to Hiruma. In the space of one afternoon, however, both learn that there are many, many things in life to fear. I don't own Eyeshield 21
1. The Incident at the Clubhouse

**Fear and Other Things**

Chapter 1: The Incident at the Clubhouse

Mamori's eyes were not frightening enough to make anyone back down; they were too sweet, too motherly to scare anyone. But Mamori still got her way because while her eyes were not frightening, they _were_ implacable.

She was not afraid. Toe to toe with Hiruma at his angriest, and her eyes were as implacable as the mountains, as deep as the earth, swallowing fury and sound. "There are better ways to behave," she hissed.

"Did I ask for etiquette instruction, fucking manager?!"

"In this case, you really needed it! You were even more horribly rude than usual! Mizu-kun was my guest!"

Hiruma's lips peeled back to show his pointy teeth, from ear to ear. "Fucking idiots naturally make me lose my manners!"

An index finger rose and stabbed Hiruma in the chest. "You can't say anything about him." Another stab. "Mizu-kun has been nothing but a gentleman." Stab. "He's been kind and honest." Stab. "And he's fearlessly stood up against your bullying." As Mamori's finger came to stab again, Hiruma caught it. Startled, Mamori looked up. And found Hiruma's eyes burning into her.

"Fearlessness, fucking manager, is not a virtue. Courage is a virtue but fearlessness is just idiocy. To have no fear means you don't think enough to be afraid; to have courage is to know fear, but to go on despite it. He is of the former and that makes him a fucking idiot."

Mamori's eyes narrowed, "I guess that makes me an idiot, as well, because I have no fear of you."

"You're just an idiot because you'll let him take you out, but you _do _fear me, fucking manager."

"I do not."

"Oh, yes, you do."

"Prove it." Mamori threw out.

Hiruma's grin stretched out wide and he took a step closer.

Startled, Mamori involuntarily took a step back. Hiruma grinned wider, and stepped forward.

"Stop that, Hiruma!"

Once again, Hiruma pushed back. Mamori looked up at him, at his face as he started to cackle.

"You're being childish, Hiruma!" Mamori said, her voice rising.

But Hiruma stepped forward anyway, and she almost fell. Hiruma caught her arms and pushed her again, against the wall, finally. "I can feel your heart racing…" And the grin was unbelievably wide. Hiruma leaned down.

Mamori stopped breathing for a moment. Her last thought was that she was a fool; she was afraid, after all. And Hiruma's lips closed over hers and that drained her brain of everything. There was only Himura and his lips, and his tongue, and his scent, filling her up.

_

* * *

_

_Mamori__ feels…__soft_, was Hiruma's thought.

Hiruma is not fearless. He is not a fucking idiot, after all. This is why he succeeds, because he is careful and he is thoughtful. Because he _fears._ But he does not show fear. He knows that this is essential.

But he is trembling now. He is trembling as he kisses Mamori. Feels the strange shiver that runs up and down his skin as he pulls her close, his hands fisting the material of Mamori's uniform.

Mamori, fierce as a mother bear with its cubs threatened, has become pliant. As soon as he slipped his tongue between her lips, it was as if she turned liquid and she flowed into the spaces of his body, curving over him. Arms around his neck. Legs up against his, stomach pressed against his groin. Warm, all around. She offered herself wholly and sweetly. And the knowledge of it made him tremble.

Hiruma felt light-headed. The scent of her, the taste of her…Hiruma growled, deep in his throat. He slanted his head, delved deeper into her mouth, his tongue playing with hers. He lifted her, his hands grasping her bottom, and he set her against the wall; his body pressing against hers.

"Oy, Sena! Practice time MAX!" Monta's voice slashed through the air, and it ended, as abruptly as it started.

* * *

It was amazing how quickly Hiruma moved. One minute, he was holding her up, and the next, there was just empty space. Mamori felt a little dizzy as she leaned against the wall, her breathing labored. Her hand rose to her chest where her heart was thundering. A decent foot away was Hiruma, standing with his back to her as he picked up his machine guns to greet Monta and Sena with. 

As the other members of the American football club trickled in one by one, Mamori tried composing herself. She walked over to her bag and dumped her notes onto the desk. She leaned over the notebook, and blindly stared at the scribbles and odd little figures that she drew.

"Is something wrong, Mamori-chan?" Doburoku quietly asked.

Mamori flinched. She looked up at the Devilbats' trainer and smiled. "Of course not, Doburoku-san."

Doburoku started to say something and then stopped. "Well, how is that young man of yours?"

Mamori's pen broke in her grip. "Doburoku-san, how many times do I have to tell you, Hiruma-san and I are not dating! He is definitely not my young man," she whispered fiercely.

Doburoku did not immediately reply. When Mamori looked up at him, Doburoku's eyebrows were lifted high. "I, ah, meant Mizu-san."

And horribly, Mamori felt the heat crawl up her neck, up to her face. "Uh, Excuse me, Doburoku-san, I have to get some water." With that, Mamori stood and left the clubhouse.

Eyes followed her. Doburoku's, Musashi's, and a pair that looked over a laptop.

* * *

"Something got you upset, Hiruma?" Musashi casually asked as he sat beside the quarterback typing in his computer. The noise of the clubhouse receded as the first years piled out to run into the practice yard. Doburoku had left with a meaningful look thrown back at Hiruma and Musashi. 

"Tch," was the only reply Hiruma had.

"Well, I suppose being sly with you would never work. I hope you didn't touch Mamori-chan, Hiruma."

The fingers flying above the keyboard paused for a second, then continued furiously typing.

"For the wrong reasons, I mean," Musashi continued. "It would be a shame if you muddle the start of something—"

"I don't want to hear it, old man." Hiruma snapped his laptop closed, his face unusually expressionless.

Musashi looked at him. "You fool. You did kiss her."

Hiruma stood quiet for a moment, then savagely kicked the bench opposite. And left the clubhouse without saying anything more.

In the doorway, Doburoku's silhouette appeared. "I didn't think he would have ever done that." The trainer stepped inside. "Mamori is of great use as a manager to him, and it seems reckless."

Musashi smiled without looking at the older man. "He cares for her." The kicker leaned back on the lockers. "Well…it'll be interesting to watch, anyway."

Doburoku snorted. "More dangerous than interesting, I should think."

Musashi picked his ear, distracted. "Oh, we'll see, I guess." He pushed off the bench. And the kicker and the trainer left the clubhouse, as well.

End of Chapter 1


	2. Musashi is Amused

Author's Note: My deepest thanks for those who've reviewed. Especially in my other stories. Especially if I haven't personally replied yet. My apologies. Time has been truly a great luxury, scarce as it is for all of us. Likely, even the schedule for this story's chapters will be inconsistent. As well, Mizu-san is an outside character that I created just for the purposes of this story.

**Fear and Other Things**

Chapter 2: Musashi is Amused

They are avoiding each other.

Musashi picks his ear, amused. He probably shouldn't be amused. After all, two people are suffering in this. And another could truly be hurt. _No_, Musashi corrected himself, _would be hurt_. Because just the existence of that confusion so evident in Mamori's face meant that Mizu-san's feelings might not be reciprocated at all.

Nevertheless, Musashi is amused. He can't help it. Hiruma rarely allows anyone to affect him. It was not that he wears a mask to keep people away. Hiruma is himself in all things that he does. For in all dealings with other people, he is the one who controls the situation. So, very few affect him. It was just amusing to see him being tripped up by Mamori.

As if hearing his name in the wind, Hiruma stopped yelling at the first-years, his head turning around almost 180 degrees to look at Musashi with narrowed eyes. Musashi stared back at him blandly. _Are you really being tripped up, Hiruma? Or is this part of your plan, as well? Part of some grand scheme that would get you something in the end._ Hiruma's sly grin flashed at him, and Musashi shook his head.

With Hiruma, you couldn't really be too paranoid.

There were a lot of things to consider, of course. Mamori has been the only one who has stood up to Hiruma. Musashi had heard of the infamous three-question battle between Hiruma and Mamori. The kicker picked his ear again, trying hard not to smile. He would have dearly loved to see Hiruma's face when Mamori had managed to exactly calculate how many meters there was to 10 yards, down to the last decimal.

Mamori could very well be the girl to unbalance the quarterback. And Hiruma's reaction the day Mizu-san first came around…that couldn't have been calculated or false.

* * *

They had been at practice. Dust had been swirling up from the field, the Devilbats scattering across the length of the practice yard. Hiruma had just roared out for Cereberus, holding a piece of cloth ripped from Monta's pants in a plastic bag. Red eyes glinting, the dog had come running, kicking up even more dust. Mamori had been sorting through the cooler, and she had looked up with an expression on her face that could best be described as resigned. 

The scream could be heard for miles away as the dog ran back, dragging Monta's leg. Out of the swirling dust, a man simply stepped into the rabid dog's path. And Cereberus, against all expectations, stopped.

The man should have been inconspicuous, like Ishimaru; he was that quiet-looking. But he still drew eyes. He helped Monta to his feet.

"Thank you MAX! Old man, you really helped me out."

Even the way the man spoke was quiet. His laughter was barely a murmur in the wind.

"Anezaki Mamori? Yeah, she's over there." Suspicion had started to edge Monta's face, and it could be seen, even from afar. "Who are you, anyway?"

More and more of the Devilbats had stopped what they were doing, looking to see what was happening at the edge of the practice yard.

Mamori had started walking over to Monta and the stranger as she heard her name. And there was more conversation. Musashi had been caught, though, by the change of expression in Mamori's face. A light seemed to have spread. She had laughed, Monta looking surlier than ever.

Musashi had ambled over to where Hiruma was, popping sugarless gum and watching, as well. "Well, who do you think it is?"

Hiruma had looked at him…and Musashi could remember feeling slightly disturbed. Hiruma had looked surprised, hearing Musashi's voice. Genuinely so. The quarterback had been so focused on the stranger that he'd completely forgotten the other people in the field.

Hiruma had looked over the field to see the other Devilbats watching Mamori, Monta, and the man. A tic started in Hiruma's forehead, and the quarterback brought out his AK-47 and started shooting in the air. "What the hell are you doing, fucking brats! Go practice!"

Mamori had waved. "Wait, Hiruma! I need Sena to come for a bit! Sena! Sena! Come here! Do you remember Mizu-san?!"

"What are you talking about, fucking manager? That fucking shrimp is at practice! Talk all you want _after_."

But Mamori had been so excited, she had ignored Hiruma, taking the stranger's hand and running towards the middle of the field, dragging the man along.

Then she had stepped on a wayward agility ladder and slipped, and the man's arms came around her. Monta had turned red and the entire team seemed to have frozen, fascinated by the scene. The man had lifted her effortlessly, smiling down at her. Mamori had looked up at the stranger, color rising in her cheeks. As Togano would later say, it was a perfect scene straight out of a shojo manga.

"Tch."

Musashi had looked at Hiruma sideways, as the quarterback also watched. His face had been completely without expression.

* * *

Later on, Sena would relate the story in the clubhouse. How before he had learned to run, before Riku ever came, there was one afternoon when Mamori had been away on a daytrip with her parents. And the bullies came. His bag had been opened, his stuff scattered on the ground, his shoes about to be stolen. And the bullies were bigger, this time around. They were two grades older. 

Then, Mizu had come. Quiet as a mouse and fearless as a lion. Those had been Sena's exact words. Quiet as a mouse and fearless as a lion.

"Tch."

Musashi had looked over Hiruma, who had paused in his typing.

"Is there something the matter, Hiruma-san?" Sena had asked.

Hiruma had looked up from his laptop, blew a bubble, popped the gum. "Fearlessness is not necessarily a virtue." And stood up and walked away.

End of Chapter 2


	3. The Wisdom of Doburoku

**Fear and Other Things**

Chapter 3: The Wisdom of Doburoku

_Look at them_, Doburoku thought, shaking his head. Nobody else seemed to notice. Even Suzuna—whom Doburoku knew had teased Mamori about Hiruma—had not detected it at all.

_Ah, too young yet_, Doburoku swigged from his canteen, swimming in satisfaction. It takes experience, years of hard living, for one to detect the minute workings between man and woman. Yes, indeed, Doburoku nodded sagely to himself, these kids wouldn't make head or tail of what was going on between Hiruma and Mamori.

It took a lot to see how Mamori had started to keep her eyes on the page of her notebook when speaking to Hiruma. Or that she did not scold Hiruma so much for calling her a "fucking manager." Hiruma gave off even fainter signals. But Doburoku still caught them, indeed. How the quarterback's eyes would flicker to Mamori when he thought no one was looking. And those eyes…

Hiruma doesn't exactly have a poker face. See, he won't give anything away, but he does it in a very lively manner, a type of flamboyant bluffing, one might say. He cackles and laughs at you insanely. Or else he's yelling and cursing you to death. Or else he's peppering the air around you with gunfire. The louder he is, however, the less he reveals to you. No, it is when his expression becomes inscrutable, when the insane grin leaves his face, that he actually exposes himself.

_There_, Doburoku narrows his eyes, pleased. _There was that poker face that wasn't a poker face_. An unsmiling expression, eyes becoming a deeper color. That was Hiruma watching Mamori as she moved past him, her cellphone ringing quite loudly.

"Hello? Mizu-kun? Yes, yes. I'm quite well."

The eyes narrow, the mouth tightens. And Hiruma loses that queer poker face that wasn't one. The quarterback pulls out guns and cackles as he happily fires into the air. Mamori covers her ear, giving Hiruma an annoyed look. She says nothing, though, as she moves away.

_Years and years of experience_, Doburoku nods, sagely scratching his chin. _Although, accidentally hearing __Hiruma's__ and __Mamori's__ conversation in an otherwise empty classroom__ might have__ also helped_, the trainer admitted, smiling.

* * *

Three weeks before Hiruma kisses Mamori in the clubhouse, Doburoku had just happened to be by their classroom. And Doburoku would swear that he overheard the conversation quite by accident. He was, after all, a janitor at the school. He'd been cleaning. Industriously, he should add. Mopping the empty hallway outside an almost empty classroom. But he'd been mopping quietly. The conversation inside the classroom had started to become interesting. 

"He was hoping I would come to his birthday. I said I would see."

"And why, are you telling me this, fucking manager?"

A sigh. "Please don't call me that, Hiruma-kun. And I'm telling you because this means I'm missing practice tomorrow."

Gum popped. "What ? Did he bribe you with cream puffs?"

"Oh, stop, Hiruma-kun. Honestly, one time…"

"As long as the fucking shrimp is still at practice."

"Oh. Well, Mizu-kun was actually hoping--"

Hiruma had hissed. "No. That pipsqueak is going to train. After practice, I don't care if he dresses up in girl's clothes and spins upside down a pole--"

"Hiruma-kun!"

But Hiruma's voice had overrode hers, "--but the fucking shrimp is going to be in pads and running the yard tomorrow afternoon."

"Hiruma-kun! Please let me finish. "

Silence.

Mamori exhales. "Mizu-kun was actually hoping to invite all of us."

Gum pops. "No."

"Well, I told him I would try. He was actually hoping to talk to you."

And the silence fell once more.

Doburoku squeezed his mop, amazed at the utter audacity of Mizu-san.

"You haven't spoken to him yet." And Doburoku could fill in the spaces himself, _you didn't seem to want to talk to __Mizu__-san._

"Am I your fucking father?"

Mamori sighed. "No, of course not." The rustle of clothing and Doburoku imagined Mamori standing. Soft footsteps followed. Then, the quiet once more. "Hard as it may seem to believe, I cherish yo--." her words fell away, and there was an awkward pause.

Doburoku squeezed the handle even tighter, pushing one fist against his mouth.

"Your opinion," she finished, speaking rather hastily. "That's right. I cherish your opinion. And he knows that. He wants the approval of my friends." She coughs and gives a half-hearted laugh. "Ahaha. I can't believe I'd be saying this. A year ago, I thought you were the most evil bully this school has ever seen. I'd even warned Sena to watch out for you…"

"_Save it_, fucking manager. I don't talk to that shitty quiet bastard because I have no reason to talk to him." There was a strange edge to Hiruma's voice.

"You couldn't even find any blackmail material?" Mamori had teased. She did not seem to have noticed.

"There's always blackmail material," Hiruma replied. "If there's none there yet, you can make some."

"That's horrible of you, Hiruma-kun." But there was that amusement in Mamori's voice.

"I didn't find anything on him," Hiruma said suddenly. Darkly.

Mamori still sounded light-hearted. "Does that mean you'll make up something, then?"

The sound of gum popping.

And Doburoku shook his head, sure that Mamori must be shaking hers, as well. "I'm sure you will. Or you'll find some other way. You're a dangerous man, Hiruma-kun. I wonder if you have any secrets worth putting in the Devil's Handbook."

"Kekeke…sure I've got secrets. But no one's going to use it against me."

"Because they're all terrified of you?"

"Because they'll never find it."

"That's decidedly unfair."

"That's life, fucking manager."

"Makes me wonder about your childhood, as well. Were you always like this?"

"You're information-gathering strategy is poor. Asking a person straight out is the last thing you want to do."

"For goodness sake's, I'm not trying to make a threat notebook against you—" although, Doburoku thought this was a good idea, "—I'm just trying ask if you also blackmailed people when you were 5 or 10."

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I've blackmailed people when I was 10. Kekeke." A chair scraped along the floor noisily. "So stop wondering, fucking manager. Get to work. Especially since you'll be missing practice tomorrow."

"You know, Hiruma-kun, this is the first time you've said something about yourself. I wish…"

"Didn't you hear me? You're missing practice tomorrow and you want to reminisce? "

Sigh. "Yes, yes. Well, which of the hundred million tasks did you want me to do?"

"Did you already complete last game's analysis?"

And the voices faded away as Doburoku tiptoed along the hallway with his mop.

* * *

Look at them now, barely able to meet each other's eyes. _Ah, the pains of love__, indeed_. And as Doburoku nodded to himself, smiling. _Yes, you young people. The suffering you must endure to understand.__ But this is all for your good…your growth…_

"What is ojii-san doing?" murmured Suzuna as she watched the old coach strike poses, fingers stroking the chin, assuming a strange expression.

"Constipation MAX?" Monta suggested.

End of Chapter 3


	4. Hiruma and the Terror the Night Before

Author's Note: My thanks to DarkMagic10 for catching my mistake with Doburoku's name. And I extend my gratitude to those who still follow the story, to those who'd left comments, to those who listed myself and the tale in alerts and favorites. I am sorry that I haven't been able to acknowledge the last group one by one. To my sister, who puts up with my calls in the middle of the night, just so I can talk about plot development for this story...I do appreciate you patience.

**Fear and Other Things**

Chapter 4: Hiruma and the Terror the Night Before

Hiruma knows about fear.

He deals in it, after all. His Devil's Handbook is an exercise in it. His plays in football use it. Eyeshield's running to Monta's catching, they become a nightmare for the other teams, a nightmare of Deimon's touchdown after touchdown. Even his reputation, his guns, and his dog are to intimidate, to terrify opponents. So, yes, he knows it well. But he never imagined it would come to eclipse him when facing the fucking manager.

Hiruma wipes down his guns as he watches Mamori put away the broom. They haven't spoken yet since all the other members of the American football club left hours ago. This was the first time that they've been alone since he'd kissed her.

_Fool._ Musashi had called him that and Hiruma couldn't have agreed more. If he couldn't fix this awkwardness, this silence between them, then they might not become as effective in the next game. Hiruma relied on the fact that Mamori understood him well. Tacit understanding becomes crucial in a game where one weakness, one small thing, could be spotted from the sidelines and communicated to the players on the field.

He should have avoided the fucking manager the day that kiss happened...after what had happened the night before, Hiruma should have known his anger would still be easily roused.

* * *

The shitty quiet bastard had really wanted to meet him, Mamori would later say. 

Hiruma had been finishing up in the clubhouse, saving his work in the laptop when his cellphone had rung.

"Hiruma?"

"What is it, fucking manager?"

"You're still at the clubhouse, aren't you?" Her tone had been faintly accusatory.

"Well, now," Hiruma had leaned back, "that's really none of your business, isn't it?"

She'd huffed, and had said something under her breath.

"Kekeke…Stop mumbling, fucking manager."

"Stay put, ok."

"Wha—" but she'd already put down the phone. Hiruma had looked at his cellphone, disbelieving. Only she would ever dare hang up on him. Before he could call her back and yell at her, however, the cellphone had started ringing again.

It had been the long-armed bastard. "They're coming for you."

Hiruma's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"That punk from the Dokubari Scorpions. He's having you ambushed as payback. There's going to be a dozen of them waiting for you as soon as you walk out of your clubhouse.."

A smile had split Hiruma's face and his pointy teeth gleamed. "Is that so? Why are you telling me this?"

Habashira had snarled. "Because if anyone is going to kill you, it's going to be me." Then, he'd hung up.

Hiruma had cackled as he put down the phone. An uprising of a slave, was it? Despite all his efforts, some people were too stupid to be afraid. He'd flipped open his cell phone to call the fucking manager and tell her to stay away.

But then, the yelling began. Hiruma had stopped, his eyes widening. He'd jumped to his feet, took his machine guns, and kicked the door open.

Right outside the clubhouse, hell had broken loose. At the edge of the cemented clearing, Hiruma saw the shitty quiet bastard charging into the crowd of punks. And the damn manager…

A bone-deep cold had invaded Hiruma's body. He'd felt his insides turn into ice as he watched the shitty quiet bastard _leave __Mamori__ open._

Even in the shitty light, even in all the confusion, Hiruma had found his eyes being drawn to a wicked glint of a knife. A fucking punk running towards Mamori was holding a knife.

"CEREBERUS!" Hiruma's guns spat into the air. And a sense of unreality came to Hiruma. He'd felt himself moving; but it was as if he was moving through water, watching the knife brightly come for Mamori. He was never going to reach her in time. He was never going to reach her in time.

The chill had flooded even his heart.

Then Cereberus's teeth was clamping down on the arm of the fucking punk, and time moved again. The continuous firing of his machine guns, the roar of motorcycles as the Chameleons rode into the school all rushed into Hiruma's ears.

The next thing he knew was Habashira pulling him back from the groaning figure on the ground, all the other punks gone, and the wicked, glinting knife a few feet away.

"You've kicked him enough. You'll kill him if you don't stop," the long-armed bastard said. The fucking manager had been standing near, trembling as she half-stepped towards him. Unhurt. Safe.

And that stupid shitty quiet bastard had jogged up to the manager and said, "Are you all right?"

Something snapped in Hiruma. A deceptive calm settled over his features as he quietly slipped free of Habashira's grasp, slammed the guns into the linebacker's arms, turned around, and punched the manager's childhood friend. A shocked silence descended.

"Hiruma-kun…"

The shitty quiet bastard had stood up, refusing the damn manager's hand, and had turned to face him. "I deserve that, I suppose. But I saw them going for the door and I…reacted."

Hiruma simply looked at him coldly. The Deimon quarterback didn't need to say anything. Not the fact that charging into a group of 12 was deadly stupid. Not the fact that doing it while you were with a girl was unforgivably so. Hiruma hadn't needed to say all that. The set of his mouth and the chill that crept into his eyes were all that was needed. Then, Hiruma turned away and left them there.

When he'd dreamed that night, he saw the wicked, glinting knife. Indecently winking at him as it came for Mamori.

* * *

Night passed into day. Students came to school and went. When practice was about to start, Hiruma couldn't believe his eyes. The shitty quiet bastard showed up again. 

What followed was an exercise in rudeness. When Mamori dragged the Deimon quarterback into the clubhouse, they had argued. And even as he'd smiled wider and wider, he'd gotten angrier and angrier; he'd pushed her until she had her back against the wall, then he'd kissed her.

_Fool._ Musashi was right. He was a fool. He needed the damn manager in the next game and here she was, not even looking at him.

But what's done is done. He'd made a mistake and dwelling on it wasn't going to help. He closed his laptop and looked at her squarely.

She had paused in the process of taking up her bag. She hadn't looked at him, but she could feel his gaze and understood what he wanted even without Hiruma saying anything. "Is there anything you need, Hiruma-kun?"

Hiruma laid aside his laptop and stood. He put his hands in his pockets and walked to her in a deliberate, measured way. When he was right in front of her, Mamori was finally raising her eyes to him; his hand shot out. Mamori flinched. But Hiruma had only closed the door behind her.

"Yeah. I want to talk to you."

End of Chapter 4


	5. The Real Fear of Mamori Anezaki

**Fear and Other Things**

Chapter 5: The Real Fear of Mamori Anezaki

Perhaps, it was because so early on in her life, someone has needed her to be strong and brave. Perhaps because she was neighbors with Sena, whose small size and diffidence attracted bullies, Mamori has gained the habit of standing up to boys twice her size.

The trick, Mamori found, is to_ not back down_. Usually, at the first sight of real resistance, bullies will retreat. Because really, bullies are great cowards. Strip away their noise, outwit them, embarrass them, and they will never bother you again.

Mamori Anezaki was never afraid of bullies. Bullies were afraid of her. Or at the very least, they knew not to bother her. Even Hiruma, with his atrocious habit for insulting nicknames and generally abusive, tyrannical behavior, knows well enough that Mamori Anezaki isn't to be pushed around.

It is very much like how a mountain cat is all the more dangerous when she's got cubs to protect, how an ewe becomes a fatal battering force of 200 pounds when the lamb is in danger. As nurturing as the mother is, she's also the most dangerous creature to cross.

But the thing is…the thing is…right here, right now, Mamori is not protecting Sena against Hiruma. This is purely her and Hiruma. She's not a mother, now; simply a girl. A girl whose heart has started to race, whose stomach has turned to lead, and whose composure is fast deteriorating, just like the last time that they were alone.

"Yeah. I want to talk to you." The sound of the closing door seems to echo in Mamori's ears.

She could feel the heat crawling up her neck. Hiruma was looking down at her, the eyes intent and quite serious, the corners of his mouth turned down. Mamori remembers that mouth, how she ran her tongue over his teeth. He'd tasted like that gum he kept chewing. But what she remembers most is the heat. Hiruma's mouth had been like a furnace.

Hiruma-kun is frowning. "Oy, fucking manager, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Mamori's wandering gaze snaps back to Hiruma's eyes guiltily. She knows that her color is running higher, but she can't help it. Mamori can _smell_ the metal of Hiruma's guns and the lemon scent of his soap. It brings back the memory of how his shoulders felt under her hands. Lemon and gunmetal was also how he'd smelled like when he picked her up and his body pushed against hers.

_Firm_, Mamori remembers, _his shoulders, his back, his chest, his arms…_they had been whip-cord lean and firm.

Hiruma has backed up a step and for the first time that Mamori has known him, he has an entirely strange expression. Mamori studies his face, eyebrows drawn together and lips peeled back, revealing his pointy teeth. Unbidden, Mamori licks her lower lip, feeling the ghost of those pointy teeth on her lip. He'd…nibbled and worried her lower lip the last time.

"Fucking manager!" Hiruma growls viciously, "Wipe that fucking look off your face."

And finally Mamori puts a name to that strange expression on Hiruma's face. He should have looked angry, but instead, he looked…unnerved, Mamori decides. The thought is so foreign to Mamori's image of Hiruma, that Mamori steps forward.

Involunatarily, he takes another step back. It makes Mamori's eyebrows climb, and the look on his face…She stamps down on the urge to laugh and steps forward again. But Hiruma is on to her now, and he's not moving another inch. If possible, he looks fiercer. Scarier.

"What are you doing…?" Hiruma asks in a low tone, danger rising from every syllable like smoke.

"Shhh…" Mamori places a finger on Hiruma's lips. _Don't think,_ she thinks. "Don't say anything," she says, and watches in fascination as Hiruma's lips wordlessly move under her finger. Then his mouth opens and closes around her finger, and Mamori inhales sharply.

She's been trying not to dream of this, trying not to think of Hiurma, trying to fight back this rising tide of anticipation every time he draws near…

She can't.

And Mamori realizes that those bullies are right, after all. Even she is afraid of herself, of this girl who moves in closer, taking her finger out of Hiruma's mouth, only to replace it with her tongue, seeking, seeking something.

Mamori Anezaki is afraid of this girl who cups Hiruma's face and explores the inside of his mouth slowly. So slowly that Hiruma's fingers are tightening around her wrists.

Mamori Anezaki is afraid of this girl who gently pushes Hiruma down onto a bench so she can properly reach his pointy ears with her mouth, her lips skimming his cheek.

Hiruma's shifted his hold on her, his arms now 'round her waist. He's growling. And Mamori can feel his body shudder when her tongue flicks at his ears, first tentatively, then teasingly. As she suspected since they first kissed, his ears are really sensitive. Really, really, sensitive, judging from the noises coming from deep in his throat.

He pulls her down, hard. She half falls, straddling him. He rests his forehead on the nook between neck and shoulder, breathing harshly. He opens his mouth suddenly and bites her. Mamori puts her arms around his head, unmindful of his teeth. The way he was shaking right now, she didn't mind his teeth at all.

"Fucking…manager," he finally rasps, "Are you trying to kill me?"

And something bursts from Mamori's chest. Something that could have been joy, but is so sharp, so intense, that you needed another name for it…

"Mamori?" A voice calls out from outside the clubhouse.

_Mizu-kun_, Mamori's eyes widen as they lock onto Hiruma's own, inscrutable now. She scrambles out of Hiruma's lap, the disciplinary officer returning, the good girl resurfacing.

Just in time. The door opens and Mizu comes in. Quiet-looking, fearless Mizu who takes in the scene—Mamori, flushed and lips red, and Hiruma, hair and clothes disheveled—and looks away.

"Mizu-kun…" Mamori's voice is stricken.

But he is not there, anymore.

End of Chapter 5


	6. Mizu Makes Assumptions

Author's Note: I've been told that my POV change has been a tad confusing. I'm truly sorry. Hopefully my attempt at fixing that works (by using the chapter title to tip off readers), but again, you are all welcome to give feedback. Aha, just to give warning, this story is ending at Chapter 7.

**Fear and Other Things**

Chapter 6: Mizu Makes Assumptions

Mizu was unlocking the gate to his house when he saw the shadow behind him. He turned around calmly and saw the shining eyes in the dark.

"Hiruma-san." Mizu sounds unfazed.

"Shitty, quiet bastard," the Deimon quarterback says by way of greeting.

"Are you lost?" There was no trace of irony at all in the question.

A gash of a smile appears in Hiruma's face, but it is not a pleasant smile. "No, definitely not." The quarterback's hand comes out of his pocket and he tosses something quite suddenly to Mizu.

Mizu's hand shoots out and he catches it.

It is an envelope.

The childhood friend of Mamori looks at Hiruma curiously as he opens the envelope. "It's a reservation at the most expensive restaurant in town for tonight," he says quietly. "Why are you giving me this?"

The Deimon quarterback unhurriedly opens a stick of gum and pops it into his mouth. He starts chewing reflectively. "The fucking manager," he finally says, "needs to speak to you."

"There's really nothing more to be said, " Mamori's childhood friend replies, matter-of-fact.

Hiruma's eyes narrow and from one of his other pockets comes out a black book.

Mizu smiles. And even that is restrained. "Please, Hiruma-san. You and I know there is nothing in there about me. You are a really good bluffer, but in this case, that's not going to work." He slips the card back into the envelope, "I'm not trying to be mean when I say that there is nothing more to be said. I was being honest. There truly is nothing left to be said. I…already knew, in a way, that you meant more to her than just one of the players of the American football team that she's managing."

The composed young man pauses. "I guess that's why I wanted to meet you. I've been infatuated with Mamori-chan since I've met her as a child. But I came back too late. The first day that I spoke to her, I could see in the way that she looked at you that she cares for you, even if she didn't know it herself."

Hiruma pockets the black notebook, sneering, "And what are you going to say? That you tried your best, and that's all anyone could ever ask for?"

"You can't force love." The reply was unapologetic. "I had hoped that before, maybe her feelings would change. But love isn't like American football. You can't train your way into it."

"You're a fucking coward."

Mizu looks at him, a small smile playing around her lips. "You love her desperately, don't you?"

A tic appears in the quarterback's forehead.

But Mamori's childhood friend is continuing thoughtfully, "You despise me, but you go through all the trouble of securing a reservation at the most expensive restaurant so Mamori-chan can meet with me and apologize. To lift a cloud in her heart. You're not doing it for me, but for her."

"I'm doing it so she can focus on her fucking managing,"

"Do you know?" Mizu says, ignoring Hiruma, "that her girlfriends think I am perfect for her. Her mother likes me a lot. I am steady, reliable, and calm. I do well in school and I have a good enough chance to go to the university and get my teaching degree. I am your complete opposite."

"You're getting fucking boring."

The composed young man laughs, and it is the contained kind of laughter, confident but not too noisy. "And she might have fallen in love with me. Who knows, she still might…"

"Tch." And the sneering curl to Hiruma's lips was there again.

Mizu slaps the envelope against one hand, smiling, "if you don't mind my asking, Hiruma-san, how do you define love?"

The Deimon quarterback leans against the wall, blowing a bubble with his gum and popping it, "That's a really pointless question."

"You would probably say it's a fear of being alone...you would probably say that love is an illusion we all use because we're all born alone and we're all afraid of dying alone and of living alone, separated from the world, separated from the rest of humanity. Whatever else we fear, being alone is probably something we're all scared of. And you'll likely say that love becomes something we use to drive away those thoughts at 3 in the morning. But that's what you would say…what you believe about love is, I think, an entirely different matter. "

Hiruma cackles. And he stands straight again. "You make," he says as he turns around, "too many hare-brained assumptions,"

"Do I?" Mizu says softly. He raises his voice, "I'll go Hiruma-san. I'll speak to Mamori-chan. But you might do well to confess."

Hiruma is already walking away into the shadows, still Mamori's childhood friend calls something out, "Because if it's not me, there might be somebody else who'll come along."

And from the shadows comes out Hiruma's reply, "Save your fucking energy…for talking to the damn manager."

* * *

"I am sorry," 

_Mamori__-__chan__, even with shadows in her eyes, sill looks incredibly lovely_Mizu thinks. Her hair is pinned up, and strands are falling from the ponytail. Her lemon-yellow dress…what was it called? Empire cut, that was it. From under her bosom to around her legs, it fell into soft billows so that even if she wasn't wearing white, she truly had the look of an angel, floating on her feet. _She has more grace than all of these rich women around us_, Mizu lets his gaze wander for a moment at the fancy restaurant where he and Mamori-chan were meeting.

But eventually, his eyes return to Mamori, who is sitting in front of him. "Well," he says, "I can't say I wasn't hurt or that I wasn't disappointed…but you should know, I suppose, that I wasn't really surprised either."

Mamori pales a little, "What do you mean?"

"It's not that I expect you to cheat, Mamori-chan—" she flinches, "—it's just anyone could see that you had feelings for him."

"Yes, that's what everyone keeps telling me," Mamori says sourly, and there is a look in her eyes, as if she's remembering past times. She sighs. "I…I didn't really…That is to say, at that time that you we're asking me out, Hiruma and I weren't…I mean, even now, it's not really…I wasn't trying to lead you on, or play with your feelings. I, I--"

Mizu cuts her off by taking her hands that we're laid on the table. "Don't be frightened, Mamori-chan."

Mamori looks from their hands to his eyes. He hopes that his eyes are serene enough.

He quickly starts talking, "I told Hiruma that there was no need to do this. I wouldn't want to force you into a relationship you don't want. I've already forgiven you. There is nothing left to be said. Not between us, anyway." And he tries to emphasize his last words, trying to make Mamori understand.

And the look in her eyes change, which satisfy Mizu. In a way.

She takes her hands away, her voice becoming steady. "You're very sensible, Mizu-kun. So I'll say I'm sorry again for hurting you. I hope that one day we can be friends again. I'm sorry, if you'll excuse me…" She stands and takes her purse and sweater.

"He'll probably be at the clubhouse." The words twist in his heart, but nothing shows on his face.

Mamori meets his eyes for the last time. She nods, smiling a little. "I know."

End of Chapter 6


	7. Shaking Hands on a Bet

**Fear**** and Other Things**

Chapter 7: Shaking Hands on a Bet

There are cream puffs on the table.

Mamori shakes her head as she closes the door of the clubhouse behind her. Hiruma has not bothered to look up from his computer as he cackles. "A disciplinary officer on school grounds at night…kekeke…whatever will the school administrators say."

The said disciplinary officer only lifts her eyebrows, but doesn't say anything yet. She walks to where he is sitting, in her lemon-yellow dress, and she flops down on the bench beside him. For a moment, she regards the room of the clubhouse. "It seems like you were already expecting me, Hiruma-kun." And she nods at the cream puffs on the table.

"That?" The quarterback looks up from his computer, "Who says that was for you? But I'll be sure to check it before I leave, to make sure you haven't been sneaking food."

"Argh! Hiruma-kun!" She shakes her fist at the cackling quarterback. "You are the lowliest wretch on this planet! I swear you have no redeeming virtue at all…" and the manager's expression changes as her words fade. Her fist lowers and opens up on her lap. She gives a resigned smile. "I'll take that as my just punishment for trying to bandy words with you." Then her smile changes, becoming gentler, tender.

The quarterback sweeps his eyes back to his computer, as his fingers start typing again. "You have another stupid look on your face, fucking manager."

Mamori looks at him from under her lashes, the gentle, tender smile still remaining, "I…I just realized how happy I am now…even when I'm yelling at you."

The quarterback's fingers slow down and stop, the room becoming quiet. And then, those fingers start dancing again all over the keyboard, as if they never stopped in the first place. "You owe me time," Hiruma says abruptly. "We didn't get to talk at all the last time."

The Deimon manager blushes as she recalls the reason why they didn't get to talk. Hiruma catches her blush and cackles. "That's right…a disciplinary officer attacked me and practically violated me—"

"HIRUMA-KUN!," Mamori blushes fiercer, "You are truly…" and she stands up with a sound of exasperation.

But the quarterback's hand snaps out and catches her wrist. "Wait a minute." His eyes rise to meet Mamori's surprised ones. "We have to talk, remember?"

She sits down again, with a thump, her dress settling around her a moment after, like a cloud that's touching ground. "You're right. I have things to say to you, too. But you go should go first."

Hiruma releases her wrist, closes his laptop, and puts it aside. "I wanted to make a bet, fucking manager."

For a moment, Mamori is unable to say anything. "A…what?"

"You heard me," irritation skates over the quarterback's voice as he crosses his arms and leans back, "I said I wanted to make a bet."

She exhales slowly. "I see…"

"Will you listen to me first, fucking manager?!"

"I…I'm all ears."

"Then, you should look at me."

And, indeed, Mamori turns to him, but her eyes are skittering over to a point beyond Hiruma's head, so that even if she is facing him, she is avoiding his eyes.

The quarterback lets out a hiss of irritation and his hands suddenly grab Mamori's face. She gasps, her hand involuntarily wrapping around Hiruma's forearm, as Hiruma forces her eyes to look into his. "I want you," he says quietly, "to look at me when I start saying this. Now, are you listening, fucking manager?"

Mamori nods.

"If the Deimon Devilbats win the Christmas Bowl, then the rest of the brats can find out about us…"

Under Hiruma's hands, her eyes widen. "About…us?"

"Tch…do I have to repeat everything for you, fucking manager?"

Mamor's eyes, still wide, begin to shine as they fill with tears. She tears Hiruma's hands away, covering her face. But she does not struggle as the quarterback roughly pulls her into his lap. And Hiruma puts his arms around Mamori, holding her close and pressing his lips to her forehead.

"You…" her voice hitches, "you didn't say anything about us in the first place!"

She feels his lips stretching into a smile against the skin of her forehead. "Damn manager…" he says, and the jagged half-laugh that tails his words make the nickname sound…tender. "I don't need to tell you. You already know it."

The quarterback pulls her ponytail down. Her face tips up, tears silently running, plastering the loose strand of her hair to her cheeks. And he kisses her, the salt fresh on her lips. A stillness descends upon the clubhouse, where all small noises become louder, where all small movements become magnified. The sound of a distant horn of a car, the whisper of a passing breeze, and the rustle of leaves in the trees in the school grounds…they are all the more louder, but all the more far away as Hiruma and Mamori stay suspended, leisurely, lazily kissing.

This time, there is no need to hurry, no desperate need urging them on, just the quiet feel of each other, and it becomes much like leaves floating along the river, or clouds meandering in the sky. Each shift and stir seems natural and unforced, all of their fingers and lips moving of their own accord, as right as the spring rain and the summer sun.

"So," Hiruma says against Mamori's lips, "are you going to shake hands on that bet or not?"

"Well…are the cream puffs really _not_ for me?"

Hiruma throws back his head and laughs.

"YAA-HAA!"

* * *

A few days after, Musashi and Doburoku compare notes. Both are dismayed to find that the other has absolutely no information whatsoever. 

"They're behaving in a completely normal manner," Doburoku whispers. A scream rises as a gun fires and the sounds of a broom redirecting bullets follow. "At least as normal as you can get with the devil."

Musashi scratches his chin, "If only Mizu-san would visit again, we might have been able to get something out of him…"

"But the fact that he isn't visiting should tell us something already."

"Well, now that his family has had to move again, I guess we'll never know."

"If I didn't know better, I would have thought that Hiruma might have had something to do—"

The sound of the machine guns getting closer cuts off the sentence, though, and Sena running between Doburoku and Musashi, a sausage tied to his uniform, completely cuts off the conversation; both kicker and trainer scrambling to avoid a rabid Cereberus.

From afar, Mamori leans on her broom and signals to Hiruma. _Don'__t be mean;__ you didn't have to do that__ to them.__ Pull __Cereberus__ back. __Now._

A slow grin spreads on the face of the Deimon quarterback. And he thinks, _My__, but __Mamori__Anezaki__ is implacable._

End of Chapter 7

**END**

Author's Note: I can never thank everyone enough. You've all been really great. I know I've said this, but I hope you guys had as much fun reading this as I did watching them in my head.


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